


5 Times Peter Acted Like A Teenager And The 1 Time He Had To Be An Adult

by losingmymindtonight



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Arguing, Coming Out, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Heartbreak, IT'S SHANNON'S BIRTHDAY, Kidnapping, Parent-Child Relationship, Peter Parker in Love, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Precious Peter Parker, Teen Peter Parker, Teen Romance, Teenagers, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, except it all happens offscreen whoops, honestly bless these two, parenting is hard y'all, they suck lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-29 15:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19023025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losingmymindtonight/pseuds/losingmymindtonight
Summary: When Tony finds out that May had always wanted to do volunteer work, but hadn’t been able to because of her financial constraints, he pushes her takes a three-month stint abroad with the Red Cross during Peter’s summer break. He’ll handle the kid. How hard can it be, right? He’s probably the most precious child on the planet.--Or, in which Tony forgets that Peter is a teenager and that, sometimes, teenagerssuck.





	5 Times Peter Acted Like A Teenager And The 1 Time He Had To Be An Adult

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parkrstark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkrstark/gifts).



> I literally cannot express how many drafts I started and scrapped for my best friend's birthday present, y'all.  
> In the end, I decided that none of them were good enough, and finished this 5+1 that I'd planned on gifting to her for months.  
> Nothing I write for you will ever feel like enough, Shannon. You deserve the world, and I love you. Happy Birthday. I hope, at the very least, that this makes you smile. That's all I ever want.

1.

It was 1:00 pm on a Sunday, Peter was nowhere to be seen, and Tony’s patience had finally run out.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” he took a last sip of his coffee before setting it down on the kitchen counter, spinning idly on his barstool, “is the kid still asleep?”

“No, Boss.”

He blinked. He had been almost certain that the kid was just tired, catching up on some extra shut-eye after a week of late-night patrols. “Excuse me?”

“Mister Parker has been awake since 10:00 am.”

Jesus Christ. Alright. Uh, new approach, then. That was fine. Flexibility was a vital component of parenting. This was just a chance to practice. “What is he doing?”

“He is in bed.”

“ _Still_?”

“My surveillance indicates that he has not risen since falling asleep at approximately 12:37 am.”

His head was gonna explode. “Not even to _pee_?”

“It does not appear so, no.”

“For god’s sake.” He pushed off his stool and slapped the counter for good measure. “Don’t tell him I’m coming.”

“Whatever you say, Boss.”

He staunchly ignored the sass in her tone.

The walk to Peter’s room was short, and he didn’t even bother knocking before swinging the door open and heading straight for the windows, flinging back the curtains and flooding the space with afternoon sunlight.

Peter hissed like a vampire, burrowing his way underneath his comforter like Tony might give up and leave if he couldn’t see him.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he drawled, smothering a smirk.

“Mister _Stark_.” The Peter-shaped lump shifted, and Tony was actually impressed by the amount of displeasure the kid was capable of exuding without even making eye contact. “Don’t you knock?”

“Why would I do that?” He walked over to the bed and plopped down with much more force than necessary, bouncing Peter around. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“I was _sleeping_.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Yes, I was.”

“If I may interject,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. sounded smug, “your vitals indicated wakefulness at 10:04 am, and they have continued that pattern ever since.”

Ha. _Busted_. Finally, a moment when his AI was actually on his side.

He patted Peter’s shoulder through the blankets. “Sorry, kid, what were you lying?”

The top half of the kid’s face popped out, eyes narrowed in a glare. “She watches me when I’m _sleeping_?”

“Yup.”

“What the hell?” Peter sat up, indignant. “That’s _so_ creepy.”

“Well, get used to it.” He pulled his legs up onto the bed, sitting crisscrossed, still grinning at his victory. “Now, why are we laying in bed for hours on end?”

He assumed that the pout Peter aimed his direction was meant to express his discontent, but he was doing a much better job of that when his face was obscured. Now, he just looked like a puppy after you took his chew-toy away.

“I was doing something.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

Peter’s eyes darted away from his own, and Tony knew all at once that, for the second time in a span of five minutes, the kid was lying through his teeth. “Y’know. Stuff.”

Alright. Fine. Evidently, he had a lesson to reinforce.

“Oh, F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Be a dear and check his search history.”

The kid’s face paled, eyes going comically wide. He looked desperately at the ceiling, words tripping over his tongue in his haste to get them out. “No, _no_. Don’t do that, FRI. _Please_ don’t-”

“Mister Parker has spent all of his bandwidth on a variety of social media platforms and Google searches. He opened Instagram approximately 37 seconds after waking up, and proceeded to switch between other websites such as Tumblr, Facebook, Pinterest, and YouTube. Some of his Google searches include _do spiders pee?_ , _origin of the little teapot song_ , and approximately six misspellings of _Chuck E. Cheese_.”

He laughed, not even bothering to hide the fact that Peter’s embarrassment was funny. The kid looked like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “What was he watching on YouTube?”

“Vine compilations.”

He shook his head, relieved. “Oh, thank god. I thought you were watching porn.”

The kid started sputtering immediately, face red. “Why would I be-” he choked, “I… YouTube doesn’t even _have_ porn.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Interesting that you know that.”

“Shit, wait,” he knew he should probably chastise the kid for cursing, but decided that he’d been through enough, “I-I don’t even know how to find that, uh, that stuff. I-seriously. I don’t have a clue.”

“Sure, kid.” He flicked his shoulder. “Honestly, I’m way more concerned about the fact that you’re on Tumblr. Really, Pete? That’s just masochistic. And Pinterest? You planning a wedding behind my back?”

Peter shoved him (although Tony could tell he was holding back almost all of his strength, because he didn’t even shift). “Leave me alone.”

“Nope, get up.”

The kid crossed his arms, the picture of obstinate resistance. “No.”

Oh, cute. The kid thought he could actually out-stubborn him.

_Fine, squirt. Game on._

He stood, yanking the blankets off the bed and chucking them into the corner. Peter yelped.

“Oh, _yes_. Up, now.” He pointed to the bathroom. “Go piss. You’re gonna give yourself a bladder infection.”

If the blush from the porn discussion was fading, _that_ comment brought it rushing back. Even the tips of the kid’s ears were red.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. tells you when I _pee_?”

The words come out as a squeak, and it hit Tony that Peter’s voice hadn’t fully broken yet. Jesus. He was a _baby_.

“Amendment: she tells me when you _don’t_ pee.” He grabbed the pillow from behind Peter and hit him with it before strolling towards the door. “If you haven’t pissed, showered, and come out for a meal in the next hour, I’m sending a suit to make you.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed, unsure. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I will.” He stepped into the hallway, paused, then leaned his head back into the room with a sugar-sweet grin. “By the way, Mister Innocent, you can find _‘that stuff’_ on this little website called PornHub. Kind of obscure, I know, but I’m sure someone with your Google skills can-”

He just narrowly dodged a pillow to the face.

 

2.

Peter wasn’t home.

That wasn’t necessarily an issue in and of itself. He was perfectly capable of living without the kid, _thank you very much, Rhodey._

No, the issue was that Peter wasn’t home and it was 3:00 in the goddam morning.

Oh, and he wasn’t wearing the suit.

And his phone was out of battery, so Tony couldn’t track him that way, either.

Logically, he was fully aware that pacing anxiously around the coffee table wouldn’t do anything to bring Peter home. And, after a quick text consultation with Pepper, he was also coaxed to the conclusion that sending an Iron Man suit out looking for him would be inappropriate and probably illegal.

So, he tried to sleep.

After about 20 minutes of kicking angrily at his sheets and staring blankly at the ceiling, though, he went back to his pointless pacing.

Yeah, yeah, unproductive, but at least it gave him the illusion of control.

The city could be dangerous at this hour. Peter could’ve been mugged, or kidnapped, or _killed_. Oh, god, the kid could be dead in a ditch somewhere, and Tony wouldn’t even know.

47 minutes passed, full of anxiety and what-ifs, before he _finally_ heard the background hum of the elevator, and then Peter walked into the living room.

Or, rather, Peter tried his best to _sneak_ into the living room.

They made eye contact almost immediately, and the kid deflated. He chucked his backpack across the floor with a groan, obviously pissed at being caught.

Tony, on the other hand, felt every ounce of frustration get swept aside by a dizzying wave of _thank god, thank god, he’s home, he’s okay_.

“ _Peter_.” He stumbled forward, running his hands erratically through the kid’s hair, down his arms, desperately checking for injuries. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Peter wiggled away from his hands, nose scrunching in annoyance. “Mister Stark, Mister _Stark_. Quit it. I’m fine.”

He shook his head, snagging the kid’s wrist before he could make a run for it. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Mister Parker is unharmed.”

“Fuck. _Fuck_.” There was a flash of guilt on Peter’s face, just for the briefest second, before it was replaced by his manufactured nonchalance. “You scared the shit out of me.”

The kid shrugged. “Sorry.”

Oh, and _there_ was the anger. Yup. Loud and clear.

“Yeah? Are you?” He forced himself to take a few deep, steadying breaths. He couldn’t lose his temper. _He_ had to be the reasonable one here. “Where the hell were you, Parker? Start talking.”

Peter actually had the nerve to glare at him. “Does it matter?”

“ _Yes_.” He reminded himself firmly that a touch of rebellion was healthy and normal for teenagers, and that it was his job, as the parental figure in this situation, to handle it with as much tact as possible. _Be straightforward, force him to be open with you._ “Are you drunk?”

“What?”

He reached out and snatched the kid’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing his face into the light and inspecting his eyes. “High?”

“What? No!” In his defense, Peter’s pupils _were_ normal. He had bags under his eyes, probably from the fact that it was _4:00 am_ , but they weren’t bloodshot or glassy. “Why would you think I was _high_?”

“Where else would you be at this time in the morning, Peter?” He let the kid jerk out of the grip on his face, but didn’t relinquish his hold on his arm. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., do we still have a breathalyzer test down in the lab?”

“Yes, Boss.”

In any other circumstance, the way Peter’s jaw dropped would’ve been comical. “I-you _can’t_ be serious.”

“Oh, I’m serious.” He let go of the kid’s wrist just long enough to grab his upper arm, hauling him back to the elevator and giving him a shove inside, carefully observing how quickly he regained his balance. “Don’t whine. If you’re sober, then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Peter stared at him, hurt written all over his face. He pretended it didn’t affect him, but it did. “You don’t trust me?”

“It doesn’t matter whether I trust you or not. This is called learning a lesson, Peter.” They arrived at the lab, and he went back to dragging the kid along, despite his squeaks of protest. “When you come home at 4:00 am, you make people suspicious.”

More indignation. Tony couldn’t help but feel like it was entirely unfounded. “I can’t believe you think I snuck off to get drunk!”

He shoved the kid onto a bench. “Well, considering that you won’t tell me what it is you _actually_ snuck off to do, I have to extrapolate, don’t I?”

He crossed his arms. “Do I seem drunk to you?”

Tony swung back to the bench and gripped Peter’s shoulder, forcing their eyes to meet. “Did I seem drunk when I first met you?”

The kid blinked, mouth hanging half-open in surprise. “I… _what_? No, of course you didn’t seem-”

“Well, I was.” He forced himself not to tremble. “That was me after a good few glasses of hard whiskey. Appearances can be deceiving.”

“You… You didn’t even seem…”

“Yeah. I know.” He pulled the breathalyzer out of the MedKit and shoved the device into Peter’s hands. “Just take the damn test, Parker.”

The shock of Tony’s realization seemed to get rubbed away by annoyance, because the kid went back to glaring. “Will you leave me alone if I do?”

“Oh, no.” He swallowed back a bitter laugh. “This conversation is _far_ from over. But if you pass, then I _will_ let you go to sleep.”

“Well, maybe I don’t wanna sleep.”

Could this kid _sound_ any more immature? Jesus.

“You know what, Pete?” His jaw popped as he clenched his teeth. Some irrational side of him thought that if he didn’t open his mouth, the furious words couldn’t escape. “You can do whatever you’d like, as long as you do it in your bedroom and sober.”

“I _am_ sober-”

He nodded pointedly at the breathalyzer. “Then prove it.”

For a few seconds, Peter scowled. Then, looked down at the device and sighed, defeated. “I don’t even know how to do this.”

His anger fluttered, dying against the way the kid’s voice wavered. “Press the button. Blow until the beep stops.”

Peter followed his instructions, glanced at the results, and silently chucked the device into Tony’s outstretched hands.

He looked down at the screen, hoping and hoping and-

_0.0_

He sucked in a breath. That had been the result he’d wanted, right? Why the hell did he feel so sick all of a sudden?

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Peter glowered, “ _oh_.”

_Apologize. This is the moment where you admit you admit you were wrong, and apologize._

“Hey, Pete, listen-”

The kid shrugged, and Tony could _see_ him shoving the hurt down behind a façade of apathy. “Listen, it’s whatever.”

And before he could blink, Peter was on his feet and retreating towards the elevator, shoulders hunched and steps hurried.

He stood up, reaching out his hand in an aborted, pitiful attempt to snatch at the kid’s retreating form. “Buddy…”

“Goodnight, Mister Stark.”

The doors closed before he could think how the hell he was meant to respond to that.

 

3.

If Tony had thought Peter’s ability to lock himself in his room had been excessive before, it was nothing compared to the day after the breathalyzer incident.

Morning fell into afternoon which fell into evening, and still the kid was nowhere to be seen. Tony was starting to wonder if he would _ever_ emerge from his room. Maybe he would just… ignore him for the rest of all time.

And, yeah, he knew that that scenario was logistically impossible, but none of that logic stopped him from stressing about it.

He hadn’t allowed himself to disappear into the lab, because that’d let the kid sneak past him. Instead, he’d planted himself in the main living area, floating between the couches and the kitchen, and waited.

When 6:00 pm came and went, he finally broke.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., is Peter alright?”

“His vitals are perfectly stable.”

“Has he eaten anything?”

“He has snacked on potato chips and granola bars in his backpack throughout the day.”

He sighed. “ _Of course_ he has snacks.”

“I believe he is avoiding you, Boss.”

“Yeah,” he rolled his eyes, “no shit, FRI. Thanks for pointing out the obvious.”

“It’s my pleasure.” There was a pause, presumably as the AI considered the situation. “Would you like me to ask Mister Parker to come into the living area so you may speak with him?”

He snorted on a laugh. “Like he’d come.”

“It may at least be worth the attempt.”

Alright, well, she had a point. “Yeah, sure. Let’s see if he’ll come quietly.”

To his great shock, the kid did.

Only a few minutes after F.R.I.D.A.Y. relayed his request, the kid came slinking into the living room, eyes downcast and posture sullen. Sure, he may have been the picture of teenage angst, but he was here and he wasn’t running straight for the hills the moment Tony looked at him.

That had to be a win, right?

“Alright, Pete, time to bite the bullet.” He patted the couch cushion next to him, and didn’t mention that _he_ was biting the bullet, too. “You know we have to talk about this.”

Peter sat slowly, purposefully placing himself out of Tony’s reach. “Do we?”

“Yes.” God, he was about three sentences into this conversation and he could already feel his temper dangerously spiking. “Now, where were you?”

“Doing hard drugs in a back alley,” the kid deadpanned.

“Very funny.” He bit his tongue, letting the pain steady him. “Don’t be cute, Parker.”

“Why should I even tell you?” The words were less angry, more pouty. If anything, Tony would’ve preferred anger. It would’ve been more mature, at least. Like this, the kid just sounded like a goddamn toddler. “You obviously don’t trust me, so it’s not like you’re actually gonna believe anything I say.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You had a curfew and you broke it. What were you expecting me to do? Give you a pat on the back and let it go?”

“I was expecting you to act like a _normal person_.” Peter raised his eyes are glare at him. “Who gives their kid a breathalyzer because they were a little late?”

“Peter, it was 4:00 in the fucking morning.” _Whoa. Slow it down, Stark. Easy. Hit the brakes._ “That… That is more than a little late.”

Peter shrugged, dismissive. “Whatever.”

“Oh, no. No you don’t. Do not change the subject.” He grit his teeth. “ _Where were you_ , Peter?”

“I don’t have to tell you.”

“Oh, I think you do.” Holy shit. He sounded like his father, low and dangerous. He _hated_ this, hated that a part of him hated the kid for triggering this side of him, the side he’d spent a lifetime burying. “You’re grounded until May comes home.”

Peter blanched, shock all over his face. Yeah, he hadn’t expected _that one_ , huh? Tony was usually the fun parent, let May handle the punishing.

 _Sorry, bud,_ he thought, _but May isn’t here._

“That’s _ridiculous_ ,” the kid sputtered.

“So is your attitude. Clean it up and maybe we can negotiate.”

He watched Peter work his jaw, forcing his face into impassivity even though Tony could tell he wanted to cry. It broke him a little, doing this to the kid, but he didn’t know what other paths he had. He had to set limits, and he _had_ to uphold them. If Peter blew through every one of his orders, what could he expect when it came to Spider-Man, or other important things? Peter _had_ to know that he was in charge. That he was the child, and Tony was the adult.

Even if he hated it.

“You don’t own me,” Peter whispered.

“Technically, you are a minor, and I am currently the adult responsible for your welfare.” He steadied himself, stared at Peter’s shoulder rather than his wobbly face. “That’s about as close as it gets.”

Peter sniffed, and Tony’s heart ached.

“Just talk to me, Pete,” he begged. “I just want to know where you went, why you were late. If... If you can just be logical with me, then we can put this to rest. _Please_.”

For a second, he was sure the kid was going to break. Then, he stood up swiftly and kicked the leg of the coffee table in frustration. “No.”

“Fine.” He forced himself not to betray how much the kid’s dismissal hurt him. “Then you really are grounded. Indefinitely.”

“Fine,” Peter hissed back, heading in the direction of his bedroom. “See if I care.”

“No lab, either,” he called after him.

“Fine!” Peter shouted back.

Tony slumped back against the couch and rubbed his hand down his face. He felt bone-weary. He was _trying_ to do his best by the kid, and all he got was the distant sound of a slamming door in return.

Peter didn’t come out for dinner, and Tony eventually slunk back into his own room with a heaviness in his gut. F.R.I.D.A.Y. let him know that the kid had come out and eaten once the kitchen was clear, and it made some of the concern lessen, but the guilt was still sharp and painful.

Sometime around midnight, though, his door cracked open, and a familiar silhouette slipped in. He watched Peter shuffle up to his bed, hands wringing out the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

“Hi,” he murmured, hoping with everything he had that this was _his_ Peter, that the shouting and anger and cold-shoulders were over.

“Hi,” Peter murmured back.

He gestured to the section of mattress next to him. “D’you wanna sit?”

“Mhm.” The kid was stiff as he settled down beside him, but he didn’t seem standoffish, just awkward, so that seemed like a pretty substantial win.

“Are you alright, bud?”

“Yeah. Are… Are you?”

He smiled at the question. Yes, this was _much more_ his Peter. “Yeah, kiddo, I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered, voice thick. “I-I’m really sorry. I don’t like fighting with you. I was just… angry.”

“I know.” He realized that he probably shouldn’t be so soft on the kid, but he couldn’t help it. He believed him, and he knew that any punishment he probably dropped on Peter’s shoulders couldn’t even begin to rival the hatred he’d harbor towards himself. “It’s alright.”

“I was with a boy.” Peter’s eyes danced up to meet his through the darkness. “Yesterday, I mean. That’s… That’s why I missed my curfew.”

He sat up a little more, turning on his bedside lamp at the lowest setting and studying Peter intently. “With a boy?”

“Yeah.”

“As in…?”

“Not… Not _that_.” He could see the kid’s blush rush through his cheeks. “But… on a date. Well, kind of a date. I… I think it was supposed to be a date.” Peter ducked his head, gnawing nervously at his lip. “I really hope it was a date.”

“And you didn’t wanna tell me this because…?”

“Because he’s a… a, well, a _you know_ …”

“A _him_.”

It wasn’t a question, but Peter nodded anyway. “Exactly.”

“Oh, _Peter_.” He nearly laughed, but swallowed it back. “I don’t care. You can date whoever you want.” He reached out to try an experimental ruffle of the kid’s hair. He didn’t pull away, and it made Tony’s chest sing. “Just… maybe date them before your curfew, yeah? Or _tell me_ you’re going on a date, and we can work out a deal. I’m not a _monster_.”

Peter laughed a little. “Curfews are stupid anyway.”

He sighed. “Let’s not do this, okay? I think we’ve both had enough arguments in the last 24 hours to last us a lifetime.”

“Yeah, okay.” Peter fiddled with the bedsheet for a second. “I really _am_ sorry.”

“And _I’m_ sorry too, by the way.” He was always surprised by how easy it was to apologize to Peter. “The breathalyzer was… an overreaction. You just scared me, and I lost my temper. It won’t happen again.”

Slowly, as if he was feeling it out, Peter leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Tony’s middle. The second Tony reciprocated the hug, he happily buried his face into his neck.

“Am I still grounded?” Peter muttered.

Tony laughed, brushing a hand over the back of the kid’s head. “Yeah, but I told you we could negotiate if you fixed the attitude. Since you did, I’ll only hold you hostage for a week. Feel free to blame it on me when you text your little boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh? But you’d like him to be, right?”

“Mister _Stark_.”

“Hey, hey, okay. Alright. I’ll leave it.”

“Thank you.”

“… For now.”

“Mister _Stark_ -”

 

4.

“Boss, Mister Parker is back from his date.”

He looked up, already shoving the oil he’d been using to spruce up Dumm-E’s joints aside. He was excited for the kid, really. There was nothing like that first backseat love, a rush of color and the kind of emotions adults spent the rest of their lives searching for. It was nice, to watching Peter find his. Brought back a few memories of his own.

“How’d it go?”

“I did not ask him.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, that doesn’t matter. Was he smiling?”

“Yes, very much so. His heartrate is also elevated, indicating a hormonal response.”

“Okay. We’re gonna have to talk about TMI, but thanks.” He stood. “He in his room?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go pay our little lover boy a visit, then.”

He spent the whole elevator ride and short walk to the kid’s room grinning, feeling a strange kind of excitement at the prospect of sharing this moment with Peter. Maybe it was wrong. Maybe he was overstepping some boundaries, pushing himself into a place he didn’t belong, but god, he just couldn’t help it.

Tony pushed open the door to Peter’s room, and all of his doubts evaporated.

The kid was sprawled out on the bed, still dressed up in his “nice” clothes, an arm thrown over his face. He looked impossibly young, impossibly small. For a moment, Tony could barely believe that this _child_ was actually old enough to go on dates and skip curfews and fall in love.

“Hey, squirt,” he murmured. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. said you were back.”

Peter dropped his arm to beam at him, upside-down but so goddamn happy that it made Tony’s breath catch in his throat. See, _this_ was nice. _This_ was a perfect example of why he’d actually loved having the kid living in his pocket for the past month.

“Hi, Mister Stark.”

“Hey.” He moved across the room and laid down beside him, relishing the warmth that trickled through his chest when Peter curled into his side and positively melted into the contact. “It go well?”

“It was _amazing_.” The kid’s voice was dreamy. “He kissed me.”

He smothered his grin. “Yeah?”

“I’ve never had someone kiss me before,” the kid whispered, like he was sharing a secret between sleeping bags at a slumber party.

“No?”

“No.” There was a pause, just a heartbeat, as if Peter was weighing something on invisible scales. “What was your first kiss like?”

He balked in surprise, but only for a second. “My first kiss?” He smirked a little. “Or my first real kiss? ‘Cause I don’t count Rhodey, he was just practice.”

“ _Ew_ ,” Peter giggled. “I’ll… never get that image out of my mind ever now, so thanks.”

His smile didn’t fade, but it did soften. He wound some of the kid’s curls around his finger, chewing through his next words slowly. “It was in a supply closet. My first kiss, I mean. A supply closet at one of my dad’s galas. Rhodey was a lookout.”

Peter nodded, thinking. “He kissed me in the car.”

“Oh? Very rebellious, I must say. Don’t let the cops catch you, Mister Dangerous.”

The kid brought his hand up to his lips, brushing his fingertips over them. Tony was pretty sure he didn’t even know he was doing it, and it was such a gushy, innocent gesture that it made him want to bundle the kid up and hide him from the world for the rest of his life.

“It was nice,” Peter muttered, voice distant, like his thoughts were just spilling out. “I liked it.”

“Kissing _is_ nice,” he agreed gently.

“Yeah, it is.” Another pause, followed by another abrupt conversational turn. “You really really love Miss Potts, don’t you?”

“More than anything else in the world, kiddo.” _Except maybe you. I haven’t decided if that’s okay yet_. _Hell, I haven’t even decided how to process that possibility yet_. “But I mean, who _couldn’t_ love her?”

“She loves you, too. I can see it when she looks at you.” Peter turned his head into Tony’s chest, burying his face into the soft fabric of his tank top. “I want that, one day. I… I want this to be that.”

The words stung a little, because Tony knew that probability was against the kid on this one. He didn’t have a single doubt in his mind that there was a person out there for Peter Parker, and that he’d find them one day, but he also knew that first relationships rarely lasted. They were a conglomeration of hormones and sweaty hands. They were a hell of a lot of fun, for sure, but they weren’t permanent.

They weren’t Pepper.

“You’ll find it.” He rubbed Peter’s back, surprised by his own tenderness. “And there’s a lot of kinds of love, Pete. Don’t ever forget that. The way Pepper looks at me? You’ve already got it. May looks at you like that.”

_And so do I._

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… it’s different. And I’ve never felt _this_ before, y’know? It’s like… it’s everywhere.” Peter’s voice dropped low. “It’s… a little scary, actually.”

He laughed. Yeah, he remembered this, too. The terror of realizing you were in too deep. Not a single caution in the world could drag you out now. You were gonna fall and, eventually, you were gonna smack right into the ground.

He hated the idea of Peter crashing.

“Yeah, it _is_ a little scary, but it’s fun, too.” He stroked the back of the kid’s head, curls soft under his touch. “Just… have a good time. Enjoy it.”

“You’re the best, you know.”

He blinked back his surprise. “Thank you, buddy.”

“I’m gonna be… I’m gonna be so annoying about this. I’m never gonna shut up. I’m gonna… be like one of those lovestruck teenagers in a Nicholas Sparks novel. You’re gonna get so tired of me so quickly.”

_If I was gonna get tired of you, kid, it would’ve already happened._

“It’s alright. We’ve all been there. This is just karma for the shit I put Rhodey through. Oh, bad word, don’t repeat that one.”

“I say shit all the time. _You_ say shit all the time.”

“Well, I’m a bad influence, all that jazz.” He didn’t want to get up. He wanted to lay here forever, happy Peter wrapped around his chest, and forget the weight of responsibility permanently resting on both their shoulders. “Curse words are for adults.”

“I’m literally sixteen, Tony. I _am_ an adult.”

“Law says eighteen, squirt. Can’t vote yet.”

“I’m at the age of consent, though.”

“Jesus.” He winced at the thought. “Actually, good segue. Do we need to talk about… all of that? I mean, you’re making out in cars now, so I feel like-”

“We didn’t _make out in the car_. It was just, like, one kiss-”

“But one kiss leads to another and then, _poof_ , your clothes are on the floor mat, and-”

“No.” Peter slapped a hand against his chest, laughing. “Please, _please_ no. I do not need to have this conversation. I’ve, uh, I’ve got it.”

“This is coming from the kid who didn’t know how to find porn.”

“ _Please_ , Mister Stark,” Peter whined.

“Alright, alright. I concede.”

“Thank god.”

He was more than a little pleased that despite their spat, Peter hadn’t moved from his side. He was still warm and cozy against him, a literal weight pinning him to Earth.

He needed that, somedays.

“Just… be smart, alright?”

Peter’s voice softened. “I’m always smart.”

“ _Nobody’s_ smart all the time when they’re a teenager.”

“Even you?”

He chuckled, thinking back to when he was Peter’s age and biting back a full body cringe. “Oh, god, Pete. _Especially_ me.”

 

5.

“Boss,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. sounded hesitant, “Mister Parker is back.”

“Yeah?” He pushed out from underneath his Flathead Roadster. “Anything I need to know?”

“He’s crying.”

Well _that_ shattered his good mood. “He’s… he’s _what_?”

“He’s crying,” she repeated.

Tony rushed to his feet, kicking a rolling stool out of his way as he made a beeline for the elevator. “Do you know why?”

“He has not disclosed this information to me, although I did take the liberty of asking.”

“Alright, well, Jesus,” he forced himself to slow once he reached the elevator, taking a few calming breaths as it whirred to life, “where is he?”

“His bedroom.”

“Take me there, please.”

“Of course.”

The unfortunate consequence of the elevator ride was that it gave him just a little to long to ponder the situation he’d suddenly been thrust into. God, he’d thought having the kid for the summer would be a breeze. They usually got along so well, and Peter wasn’t nearly as snotty-nosed as most of the brats Tony had met.

The worst part was, even after getting face-full after face-full of Peter at his worst: he still adored the kid. Still wanted him around. Still wanted nothing more than to help him navigate the shitty expanse that was life.

He just… didn’t know how.

He could hear Peter crying before he even got to his bedroom. The kid hadn’t bothered to shut his door, just left it cracked, so he pushed it open the rest of the way with his foot and slipped inside. Peter was buried underneath his comforter so determinedly that Tony couldn’t even see the crown of his head.

He sat gently on the edge of the mattress, heart aching with every partially-aborted sob that Peter let escape.

“Hey, buddy,” he murmured, hovering his hand over the lump that was Peter, unsure if the physical contact would alleviate or worsen the kid’s suffering.

“Go away,” Peter choked.

“No.”

“Go _away_.”

“You see, if I thought you actually wanted that, I’d already be gone.” He stayed perfectly still. “But something tells me that you don’t.”

He knew Peter. Knew the way his brain worked. Sometimes, he and Tony were so similar that it was a little eerie. And Tony that if _he_ were crying all alone in _his_ bedroom, he’d want nothing more than for someone to comfort him, but he’d be too stubborn (or, even worse, too _afraid_ ) to admit it.

Slowly, Peter pulled his comforter down, exposing his red-rimmed eyes and sob-soaked face. As he blinked up at Tony, a few fresh tears broke free and dripped off his chin.

“Oh, Peter,” he whispered. “What happened?”

Shame swept across the kid’s face. “He broke up with me.”

It was about what Tony had expected, but it didn’t stop his stomach from dropping at the words.

“Alright,” he shifted closer and pulled the comforter further down, gently unwrapped the kid from his cocoon, “c’mere.”

Peter sniffed, staring up at him with confusion. “What’re you doing?”

“Well,” he smiled, “first we’re gonna hug, one time offer, so take it quick, and then you’re gonna go ahead and cry yourself out. After that’s over with, we’re gonna go into the living room and build a nest out of every single pillow, blanket, and cushion in this penthouse. I’m gonna get you as much ice cream as you can eat, we’ll watch Star Wars, and then, once you’re ready, you can tell me everything, and I’ll give you the classic post-breakup pep talk.”

“I don’t want a pep talk.”

“Oh, I know you don’t. That’s why I’m not gonna give it to you until you ask for it.” He opened his arms. “Remember step one? We get to wallow in it first. Are you ready to wallow?” He made a point of settling back against the headboard. “ _I’m_ ready to wallow.”

It seemed like the invitation was all Peter needed to, indeed, wallow. He collapsed forward into Tony’s chest, burying his face into the fabric of his old Black Sabbath t-shirt. For a while, all he did was sob desperately, breaths harsh and over-wet, misery leaking out in agonizing waves.

Tony hated every second of it, but he refused to let it show. This was the kid’s tragedy. Every single bit of it belonged to him.

“I’m never gonna be happy again,” Peter eventually hiccupped, still crying. “I’m… how many people can there be in the world that’re gonna make me happy? I’m _never_ gonna find one again.”

“Shh, shh.” He stroked a hand over the crown of Peter’s head, heart straining at the defeat in the kid’s words. “Yes, you will. You will, Peter, I promise.”

Peter whined into his chest. “I _won’t_.”

“You _will_.” He really didn’t want to get frustrated with the kid, he really, _really_ didn’t, but _god_. Why wouldn’t he just _listen_? “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you will. This is just… this is something we all go through, okay? And it sucks. It really, really sucks, I get it, but you’re gonna be fine.”

“I love him.” Tony forced himself not to snort, not to snark something like _you’ve known him for a month._ He just nodded in sympathy and reminded himself that it wouldn’t do anybody any good to minimize this. Yeah, it was a month, but a month was a _lifetime_ at sixteen. “I’m never gonna stop, either. I’m… I’m gonna spend forever being in love with someone who doesn’t love me back.”

“Not forever, maybe,” Tony murmured, “but, yes. You don’t stop loving them just because it’s over. It’ll be okay, though. This… It’s just really bad right now, okay? But it’ll get better. You’ll see. You’ll survive this.”

“How?”

He sighed. “By going through it one day at a time. And I’ll be here, Peter.” He shut his eyes, shifted the kid closer and ignored the tear-stains and snot-marks he was leaving in his shirt. “I’ll be here to help you every step of the way.”

Peter just clung harder.

As it turned out, they didn’t get to the next phase of Tony Stark’s Heartbreak 101 until the next morning, because Peter cried himself to sleep within the next hour, exhausted and emotionally emptied. Tony didn’t mind, really. He could stuff the kid with ice cream any day of the week.

He didn’t break his promise, either. He stayed with Peter for the whole night, napping on and off and waiting for the moment when the kid woke up, ready to comfort him when the memories came flooding back in.

It left him with a lot of time to think, though, and he decided, pretty definitively, that being a teenager was probably one of the suckiest things on the planet.

 

+1.

Tony was getting very, very tired of being kidnapped.

It had reached the point where he wasn’t even halfway conscious before he realized what had happened. The uncomfortable position, the ache of cold floor underneath him, the sharp kiss of a handcuff encircling his wrist, and, even more fun, the shriek of agony coming from his left knee: these were all things he could process with only minimal awareness.

Another thing he could process with only minimal awareness: someone hastily shaking his shoulder.

“Mister Stark,” a voice hissed, and, shit, that was _Peter_ , “Mister Stark, you gotta wake up now. We… We’ve gotta go.”

He dragged his eyelids open, blinking a few times against the darkness surrounding him. When he turned to head to the side, he could just barely make out Peter’s face.

“Hey, bud,” he rasped. “Tell me, what’s a kid like you doing in a dump like this?”

That earned him a smile. “Saving your ass.”

“Are you, now?” He looked around again, but still saw nothing but black, black, black. “You get snatched with me?”

“Yeah,” Peter whispered. “Do you remember what happened?”

He thought hard, trying to push past the lingering haze of detachment in his head. He remembered Peter dragging him out for after-takeout desert, remembered eating a banana split in a hipster sweet shop in Upper Manhattan, remembered walking back to their car, parked a block or so away.

“Ice cream?” He offered, smiling a little helplessly. “That’s about all I’ve got, bud, sorry.”

The kid nodded, quickly snapping the handcuffs that had been anchoring Tony’s wrists to metal pipe snaking across the wall. “It’s fine. But, yeah, we got ice cream, and then a bunch of guys grabbed us in the parking garage.”

Oh, shit. Yeah. He remembered, now. Flashes of stealth uniforms, the feeling of Peter’s cotton t-shirt being yanked from his fist, bright-white pain as his head was slammed against the cement floor.

Peter shouting as the world went dark.

For the first time since waking up, his brain managed to drag itself into a single focus. He twisted around, grabbed the kid’s face in his hand, trying to ignore the pain that shot up his leg at the movement. “Are you hurt?”

Peter gave him a little smile. “No, I’m okay. After they knocked you out, I, uh, well I kinda played kid on them. Don’t think I seemed like much of a threat.”

 _You brilliant boy_ , he thought, pride swelling, _you brilliant, brilliant boy._

“Well done,” he praised, and, God, his knee hurt. The pain was going from distracting to borderline debilitating at a frightening pace. “Now, you gotta get outta here.”

“No,” Peter corrected, brow knitting together, “ _we_ gotta get out of here. C’mon,” he gave Tony’s arm a little tug, “you have to get up.”

“Yeah, Pete, about that,” he hated the wobble in his voice, hated what he was going to have to ask the kid to do, “I, uh, I’m not going anywhere.”

“What?” Tony could practically see the fear shoot up Peter’s spine. He straightened all at once, eyes wide and glassy. “Why?”

“My leg’s shot,” he offered, gesturing listlessly at his injured knee. “Well, uh, not actually shot. Broken, really. But… same principle.”

For a few seconds, Peter’s face was the picture of a lost child: open, vulnerable, pleading. Then, it solidified. It was a little scary, actually, how the kid seemed to age ten years in the span of a single heartbeat.

“Okay.” Peter pulled his sweatshirt over his head, jaw clenched with determination. “That’s fine. I just have to stabilize your leg, and then I can carry you.”

Tony’s stomach dropped. No, _no_. That hadn’t been what he’d meant at all. “ _No_. Jesus, are you out of your mind? You can’t fight if you’re lugging my deadweight around. You have to get _yourself_ out, then have Rhodey come get me. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“ _Peter_ , don’t be stu-”

“I am _not_ leaving you,” the kid snapped, catching Tony’s eyes, not backing down. “I’m just not, so don’t even ask me to.”

“Pete-”

 “ _No_.” Peter’s hands wrapped around his wrists, sweaty and desperate. Tony could feel him shaking. “That’s not fair. That’s… That’s not a fair thing to ask me to do, Mister Stark.”

“Okay,” he conceded, even though every instinct in his body was screaming for him to hold his ground. _Parenting is about finding middle grounds, compromise._ “Okay, Pete. Just… Just please be careful.”

“At least I’ll have you to remind me,” the kid offered, going back to fastening the sweatshirt firmly around his knee.

Tony bit back a groan of pain. “Oh, you know I’ll be bitching about it every other step.”

“I’m surprised you’ll be that conservative.”

He could tell that the banter was soothing Peter’s nerves, so he kept it up. “Try new things, and all that.”

“Sure.” The kid grabbed his arm, bracing against the floor before pausing. “Ready?”

This was going to hurt like a bitch. Still, Tony forced out a cheerful smile. “As I’ll ever be, bud.”

This time, there was no concealing the shout of pain that swept through him as he was yanked upright. He muffled it by pressing his face into Peter’s shoulder, not wanting to alert their captors, but he could feel the kid stiffen at the sound.

“Mister Stark?” Peter hissed, rushing to steady him. “Mister Stark? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he bit out. “Don’t worry. Just… twinges a bit, ‘s all.”

He was grateful that the kid took the obvious lie and ran with it.

“Yeah,” Peter muttered, helping Tony hobble in a direction that he really hoped would lead them to an exit, “yeah, it _looks_ like it twinges.”

“I’ll be shiny and new again after a good night’s rest.”

“Sure you will.”

The kid’s enhanced vision must’ve shown him what Tony’s own hadn’t, because next he knew, they were slipping through a doorway and out of the darkness.

The deserted hallway they ended up in was, in contrast to the omnipresent blackness of their previous environment, a headache-inducing beacon of florescent light. Tony’s eyes stung and watered at the sudden change, and Peter staggered to a halt with a sharp hiss, turning to duck his face against Tony’s chest. He recovered before Tony could even think to comfort him, squinting painfully but pushing forward, footsteps surprisingly silent.

They rounded a blur of corners. Tony considered asking the kid if he had any idea where the hell they were going, but he wasn’t sure if he could open his mouth without betrayed just how much pain he was in, and he couldn’t see how questioning would help. Tony knew just as much as Peter did. Hell, considering the kid’s enhanced senses, he probably knew _more_.

The monotony was broken when Peter froze midstep, head tilted, listening.

“Wait,” the kid whispered, scarecrow still, “someone’s coming.”

“What?” He whipped his head around, searching for whatever it was that Peter so obviously knew and he didn’t. “What do you me-”

Then he heard the footsteps.

 _Shit_.

He barely had time to wrap his head around that eloquent thought before Peter shoved him against the wall, gasping out a little apology in the process, then raced forward, meeting the sudden rush of black-uniform clad soldiers as far away from Tony as possible.

Every fiber of Tony’s being _screamed_ to go after him, to help, but he knew that he was just a liability at this point. Peter may be a kid, but he was a strong one. A smart one, too. He could handle himself.

At least, that’s what Tony kept telling himself.

Then, a repulser blast shot through the hallway, knocking one of the kid’s assailants flat on his ass.

And since it hadn’t come from Tony, there was only one other person that could’ve done it.

Sure enough, the War Machine armor was hovering just a few meters away, gauntlet raised and smoking. Tony felt weak-kneed with relief, and, from Peter’s whoop of joy, he wasn’t the only one.

“Need a hand, kid?” Rhodey asked.

“Wouldn’t mind one,” Peter chirped back, slamming his elbow into one of the soldiers’ masked faces, “as long as you have the time, Sir.”

“Oh, I think I can spare a second or two.” Rhodey knocked another two men down, shooting towards the fight, then pausing by Tony. “You good, Tones?”

“Oh, I’m just peachy,” he quipped, pushing the waves of pain from his leg to the back of his mind. “By all means, take your time. Keep up the banter. Don’t worry about little old me.”

“Never have,” Rhodey said, in a tone of voice that implied that it was practically the only thing on his mind at this exact moment. “Be right back.”

He waved a hand towards the fight, too tired from swallowing down the pain to offer any worthwhile verbal response.

It was over in less than a minute. These soldiers obviously hadn’t been trained to take on Spider-Man, let alone the firepower of War Machine. As soon as the last man hit the floor, Rhodey landed heavily, turning to face Peter.

“I had that,” the kid gasped, hands braced against his knees as he caught his breath. “I totally… totally had that.”

The face plate to the armor flipped up, and Rhodey grinned down at the kid. “Sure you did, Spider-boy.”

“Uh, guys?” He called out, fighting against the urge to slide down the wall and just _die_. “Glad you’re having a bonding moment, and everything, but your friendly neighborhood cripple would really love some help right about now.”

Rhodey’s _yeah, yeah, we’re coming, old man_ blurred in with Peter’s frantic, _right, Mister Stark, sorry, sorry._

The next few minutes were a distortion of Peter helping him stagger into the daylight, medics flooding them, and being shoved into the back of an ambulance while Rhodey explained how they’d managed to find them both.

Apparently, Peter’s vitals had gone wonky just before their kidnappers had thought to tear off his StarkWatch. F.R.I.D.A.Y. had attempted to contact Tony but, since he never responded, the alarm deferred to Rhodey. From there, it was only a matter of following the trail. Whoever it was that took them had done some sloppy work.

It wasn’t until Cho forced Tony onto a cot that everything slowed down enough for him to process it. He could feel the concussion, now that he was looking for it, and his knee, of course, throbbed with a never-ending agony. Cho had _tsked_ unhappily when she’d seen it, so he imagined it looked about as bad as it felt.

Peter, on the other hand, seemed relatively unharmed, much to Tony’s relief. He was standing awkwardly by the ambulance doors, looking terrible lost and small and unsure. Tony beckoned for him, absentmindedly pushing away Cho’s offer of pain meds.

He didn’t have time for getting high. Right now, he had to a kid to check on.

“You good, bud?” He asked, just as soon as Peter was close enough to hear him.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

He held out his arm, exposing his side, and sidled over as much as the thin stretcher would allow. “Then c’mere.”

To his surprise, the kid hesitated, eyes flickering between him and the floor. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” he said, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, bud. I’m getting a little lonely up here.”

Even sulking, Peter didn’t take much convincing. He was ridiculously careful when clambering up onto the stretcher, tucking all his limbs tight to his body as Tony drew him into his side, but he relaxed almost entirely once he was settled, a deep exhale draining all the tension away.

“There,” Tony murmured, pressing his face against the crown of the kid’s head, “that’s better, isn’t it?”

Peter raised his head, forcing Tony to withdraw and bringing their gazes together. His eyes were wide and wounded.

“I’m sorry you’re hurt,” the kid whispered.

He had to bite back a laugh. “Oh, buddy. This isn’t your fault.”

“It _is_ , though. Or, it kinda is, at least,” Peter rambled. “I should’ve been faster. I felt my spider sense going off when we went into the garage, but I ignored it because I’m stupid. Sometimes it goes weird in buildings like that, and I just thought… god, I don’t know what I thought. I’m just _sorry_.”

“Don’t be, Pete. You were… You were brilliant today, y’know that? Genuinely brilliant. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

They must’ve reached some kind of tipping point, because the kid’s next breath came out wet with tears, and he let himself collapse into Tony’s chest, a boneless weight of overgrown teenager.

“I’m sorry I’m so annoying,” he choked out between sobs.

“Shh, shh,” he cooed. “You’re not annoying.”

Peter shook his head against his chest, fists clenching even tighter in his shirt. “I _am_.”

“Alright, alright. Maybe you’re a _little_ annoying.” He smoothed a hand over the back of the kid’s head, a small smile playing on his lips despite the pain. “But that’s okay. You’re just a kid. You’re allowed to get on my nerves every once in a while. Hell, that’s kinda your job.”

“You sure?”

“Very sure,” he murmured. “I love it, anyway. You’re my favorite pain in the ass.”

“I promise I’ll try to be better.”

“Oh, Pete. That might he one of the stupidest things you’ve ever said, y’know that?” He let himself laugh this time, turning his nose more firmly into the kid’s hair. “You’re already the best.”

“You _just_ said I was annoying.”

“So? Everyone’s annoying.” He dragged his hand through Peter’s soft curls, scratching lightly at the kid’s scalp as he went. “But you? You’re worth it.”


End file.
